


Blaine is sick and Tony is no help at all

by HeronRainwater



Series: Blaine Stark 'verse [2]
Category: Glee, Marvel, The Amazing Spider-Man (2012), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: And cannot make soup, Blaine has flu, Sickfic, Tony is not helpful, Walking dead reference, blaine anderson stark, blaine stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeronRainwater/pseuds/HeronRainwater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your dad’s ninety percent sure you’re about to die,” Bruce said in way of an explanation, “He was even prepared to make soup. That idea fell through pretty quickly, though.”<br/>“Well, ‘m not dying and I don’ want soup,” Blaine muttered. </p><p>Blaine Stark has the flu. Tony is useless. Blaine really doesn't want soup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blaine is sick and Tony is no help at all

**Author's Note:**

> I'm starting to get the hang of this AO3 thing I think. The ratings system is a bit confusing but I rated it teen and up because Tony drops a swear. Another nonsensical fic: Blaine Stark is sick and Tony is no good with sick people.

“Are you dying?”

Blaine rolled over, clutching the blankets tighter around him. He squinted as best he could at his father, who was stood with his head peeking around Blaine’s door, the light from the hallway brightening Blaine’s room more than he would’ve liked. “What?”

“Are you dying?” Tony repeated. “God, you sound terrible. What is it, the plague? Pneumonia? It’s not pneumonia again, is it? Remember when I was watching you when you were six months old and you got pneumonia and you freaked the shit out of me? No, of course you don’t, you were six months old. Do I need to get Bruce? I don’t think he’s that sort of doctor but he’s _a_ doctor and that’s got to count for something, right? He was doing doctor things in Calcutta. I could get Bruce-”

“ _Dad_ ,” Blaine croaked, “Stop it. I’m not dying. It’s the flu.”

“People die of the flu.”

“Do you _want_ me to die of the flu?”

“God, no, what would your mother say?”

“Go away and let me _sleep_ ,” Blaine moaned.

“You want anything? Soup? People give sick people soup, right? I can make soup. Probably. I can work it out. I can engineer AIs and robots and arc reactor technology, I can probably work out soup-“

“I don’t want _soup_ ,” Blaine sniffed, rolling back over and burying his face in his pillow.

“Fine. Don’t suffocate.”

Blaine grunted in response. The door closed with a click. Blaine pulled the duvet up over his head and tried to block out the world.

*

“Blaine?” The covers were gingerly tugged away from his head. He whined, burrowing further into the pillow as a means of making up the missing warmth. “Blaine.”

“No,” He mumbled. There was a low chuckle in response. Blaine frowned. “Bruce?”

“Your dad’s ninety percent sure you’re about to die,” Bruce said in way of an explanation, “He was even prepared to make soup. That idea fell through pretty quickly, though.”

“Well, ‘m not dying and I don’ want soup,” Blaine muttered. A calloused hand rested on his forehead.

“Try telling him that.”

“I _did_ ,” Blaine huffed, “And clearly he didn’t believe me.”

“Evidently,” Blaine could practically hear him nodding sympathetically. “You’ll be fine in a few days; I’ll try to keep him preoccupied, all right?”

“Bruce, you’re my favourite, you know that?”

Bruce laughed. “Get some sleep, buddy.”

*

“Are you dying _now_?”

“Dad, _please_ , _go away_.”

“I’m just being a good parent, brat. You don’t sound as dead anymore, that’s good, right? Or have we reached the eye of the storm? Do you get one of those with diseases? Because-”

“Tony, _stop_.”

“What’s Abby going to say if I send our son back to her in a coffin because he was murdered by ruthless pathogens, Pepper? Answer me that.”

“Don’t you think you’re being just the slightest bit over dramatic?” Pepper asked, carding her fingers through Blaine’s curls. He hummed in response.

“There’s no such thing as over dramatic when it comes to Abigail Anderson. There isn’t a force on earth that could stop that woman from tearing my head off my shoulders if she wanted to. Don’t tell her I said that.”

Blaine managed a half-hearted smile.

“Let him be, Tony.”

“ _Fine_. You’d better not kick the bucket just because I’m not paying attention, you got that?”

Blaine grunted.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

*

“I heard you were dying,” Peter remarked, shuffling not at all discretely away from Blaine to the other end of the couch, “Full on zombie virus disease control season-four-of-the-walking-dead dying.”

“Obviously I _wasn’t_ ” Blaine sniffed, tucking his knees under his chin. “No zombie viruses here.”

“Are you contagious? I can’t have your germs, imagine how embarrassing it would be if I was in full sarcasm mode with some evil villain and then I just sneezed in his face.”

“You’d just sneeze in the mask, would you?”

“Ew,” Peter scrunched up his face, “Thanks for the visual.”

“Welcome,” Blaine cleared his throat. “Anyway, Bruce gave me the all clear, not that he’s that sort of doctor in any way, shape or form, but if you start coughing phlegm on the bad guys of New York-”

“Ugh, Blaine, really?”

“-Then you’ve got him to hold responsible,” Blaine shrugged.

“God, phlegming on bad guys. Screw you creative types, take your imagination elsewhere.”

“You’re not dead,” Tony appeared in the doorway, tilting his head to the side.

“Uh… no, sorry,” Blaine rubbed the back of his neck.

“Good,” Tony said, “I can’t make soup.”

“…What?” Peter frowned.

“Soup is _complicated_ , bug boy,” Tony replied, “At what point does it stop looking like congealed goo?”

“It doesn’t,” Blaine muttered.

“Soup,” Tony scoffed, “Waste of time.”

“Absolutely,” Blaine nodded tiredly.

“’It’s not rocket science’; God, you’re telling me. Rocket science is easier, I swear to God.”

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you done?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess.”


End file.
